Free Fallen Sparrow by Dorothy B. Hughes Page B

Might break a wrist.”
    The black eyes turned hate as the Spaniard followed Content into the spotlight.
    There was another warm bulk behind him and the hairs on his neck crawled. He hadn’t advanced into José’s dressing-room, one of them could have been parked there. His fingers moved with cautious quickness to his pocket. He smelled cigar. Jake said, “Good act, yes?”
    “Swell.” He kept his thumb hooked there. “Content always was a cute kid. Where’d you find the fiddler?”
    “She brought him around. He is good. Too good for Jakie’s.”
    Kit was casual. “Bet Louie was nuts about him.”
    “Yes. Louie loved good music.”
    José had been here before Louie was bumped off. Maybe the fiddler put the finger on him. Maybe Content was the sap who gave things away. She’d not seen Kit with Louie but Jake could have mentioned the friendship.
    The couple took final bows and the orchestra rushed into cacophony. Content slipped her arm through Kit’s. “You know Jake. And José Andalusian?”
    José bowed sulkily, froze with his back. “Tonight I can not play, Jake. Too much disturbings.”
    Content called after them, “Only one more number, José. Buck up. Come along, Kit. I’ve forty minutes before the next.” She led him into her dressing-room. It was next to the Spaniard’s. José’s eyes hated them as she opened the door. Jake’s cigar went on down the corridor.
    Kit slumped on the chaise. Jake had even done himself proud with these unseen quarters. Content drank coke from a paper carton. She asked, “Who sobered you up?”
    He apologized. “I’m sorry. If I’d known the shape I was in I wouldn’t have invaded you.”
    She said, “Maybe now you’ll tell me why you were loaded with the prize ring patter when you arrived.”
    He stared at the next wall pertinently, turned back to her, “Don’t you want to get some air before the next show?”
    “Certainly. I didn’t know you could take it.” She was covering herself with the red velvet cape. She let him out the fire door into the areaway. They walked in the dirty snow to the 51st Street exit and he lighted her cigarette.
    “Now what?”
    “Why did you tell me those lies about Toni Donne last night?”
    “Lies, yet.” Her eyes met his squarely in the dim alley. “Who calls them lies?”
    “I do.” He was certain. “She’s too little to toss a man out a window.”
    “And who said she pushed?”
    “You did.” He corrected it. “It’s the only way in your set-up. Who are you trying to get into trouble? Toni? Why are you jealous of her? Is it José you’re after? Or Otto Skaas?”
    She was five foot two of disgust with him. “Why don’t you look beyond your nose?”
    “What’s true? What’s lies?” She was the only one who’d talk to him. If he could only beat the truth out of her.
    “Everything I’ve told you is true.” She was solemn. “Unfortunately I don’t know everything. You’ll have to do some of the work yourself.”
    He clenched his left hand on her shoulder. “How well did you know Louie?”
    She didn’t falter. “I didn’t know him at all. He was here once or twice. With Barby’s outfit, and I saw him at Det’s. But—guests will kindly not mingle with the performers.”
    “How did Louie get mixed up with that gang?”
    She shook her head hard. “I don’t know, Kit. Why don’t you find that out? Why don’t you ask how and why?”
    “Ask whom?”
    “Barby—or Toni Donne.”
    “Toni won’t talk to me.” He hesitated, faced it at last. He’d been gone too long; Barby couldn’t wait forever alone. He’d have to win her back again. “Barby’s too busy right now with her new fellow.”
    She was suddenly angered. “I thought you came back to find out who killed Louie—not to make weak-kneed excuses.” She didn’t listen to what he tried to say. She stomped her sequin sandals back to the stage door, pulled it open, entered, and pushed it in his face. He was mad himself. He yanked as if she